


Hypothetically

by sophoklesworld



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, POV Sheriff Stilinski, POV Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, i'd say, ish, talk about violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophoklesworld/pseuds/sophoklesworld
Summary: "What are you doing?", asked the Sheriff incredulously, leaning on Stiles’ opened door."I’m researching for a book", Stiles answered not looking up from where he was scribbling into a notebook."Kid, I didn’t believe that before I knew about werewolves, why do you think I’ll believe it now?"





	Hypothetically

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talianna_ (Talianna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talianna/gifts).



> I just saw that this is the 30th fic I'm uploading on AO3, I guess I can celebrate that:D So yay to me.
> 
> Anyway, all thanks to the lovely [phaeleah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaeleah/pseuds/Phaeleah) for beta-ing!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Hey, dad?", Stiles yelled as he stumbled around the corner of the kitchen, catching himself on the doorframe with one hand.

 

His father raised his eyebrows in question as he lifted his eyes up from his files but looked otherwise unimpressed by Stiles’ entrance.

 

"Uh", Stiles started. Suddenly not sure anymore, how to start. "Hypothetically - what would happened if you were involved in a car accident and ran and the other person involved died?"

 

It took a minute, but eventually the Sheriff heaved a sigh and put down the file. "Kid, I am pretty sure you did not just have a car accident, since you came from your room, and your car was fine when I came back. Who had this accident? Is there someone I have to take into custody?"

 

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh god, please tell me Scott didn’t do a hit-and-run!"

 

"What? No, he doesn’t even have his mom’s car today! And I said _hypothetically_!"

 

The Sheriff massaged his temples, trying to fend off a headache. He sighed internally, not sure whether to just ignore the first weirdly formulated comment - like Scott would drive someone over, if he _had_ the car, or worse, Stiles would do that, but just didn’t _today_ \- or instead focus on the _'hypothetically'_ , or if he should ask about it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But then again, he should probably ask, as a parent.

 

"Did Scott run over a person some other day? Or did you?", he dared to question, dreading the answer.

 

"Stiles. What on earth are you doing?"

 

"I’m researching for a book!", Stiles defended himself.

 

"A book." The Sheriff’s voice was flat. "I think it’s more likely that you made random friends online  and now want to help them out of a very bad situation in a very questionable way."

 

"Dad, really. Do you really think I’d do anything like that?", Stiles asked.

 

The thing was, Sheriff Stilinski really hoped Stiles wouldn’t. But lately, he’s been getting better and better at lying. There’s still this twitch of his nose that gives Stiles away every time, but his eyes stayed steady now. A while ago, the Sheriff had started to not call him out on it anymore, though. He hoped that Stiles knew from his disappointed looks that he knew. Hoped, some day Stiles would open up again. For now, he didn’t really know a lot about Stiles anymore, though. The lies had become a more regular thing. The Sheriff hated it but hoped it was only a teenager’s every day secrets.

 

But since Stiles often came home bruised or appeared at crime scenes in questionable company, that hope shrunk away.

 

The whole thing left the Sheriff terribly unconvinced that Stiles, in fact, wouldn’t do that. Especially when asking questions like that. And of course there was the twitch of Stiles’ nose.

 

Sheriff Stilinski had two options, as far as he could tell. First, play along — he’s been doing it for a while now, and hoping for the best, for the eventual truth. Second, call Stiles’ out, throw all the lies back in his face, make him tell the truth. Or make him close off completely. The second option could go down either way. The first one may be the lesser evil in the end, so he would go with this, even though he knew confrontation was more direct, more efficient.

 

"Alright. I’ll give you answers. But I want something in return."

 

Stiles grinned, causing the Sheriff to shake his head, already regretting his decision. But maybe he could get something out of this, too. He gestured for Stiles to sit down.

 

"Sure, whatever you want."

 

"The next time you have movie night with your friends, you’ll have it here."

 

Stiles groaned, as expected."Dad! That’s ridiculous."

 

"It’s not. I’d like to meet your new friends and Scott used to come here all the time, I miss him around the house." Great. Guilt-tripping his own son. The statement was true enough, though. He was glad Stiles had more people to hang out with, now, but he’d like to meet these people at least once.

 

"You don’t want to? Well, then the deal is off." Sheriff Stilinski pulled his files together and was halfway out of his chair when Stiles’ hand grabbed his and he sighed, "Deal."

 

_That’s what I thought,_ the Sheriff thought, falling back into his chair.

 

* * *

 

"Yo, Dad? How many mysterious, unsolved cases did you have in the past three years?"

 

"Who wants to know?"

 

"Your son."

 

"What for? Do you want to go solve them yourself?"

 

"No, Dad. Well, maybe later. For now I wanna write a book."

 

"Yeah, right."

 

"You gonna answer or not?"

 

"Maybe if you actually come downstairs to talk to me and stop yelling through the whole house!"

 

* * *

 

Stiles tumbled down the stairs. This was a recurring problem lately — he was so caught up in his life and 'the book’ that he started to regularly miss steps, too eager for an answer as he hurried to the kitchen.

 

"Dad!", he yelled. "Dad? I have a question!"

 

As always, the Sheriff met his questions with raised eyebrows, like he knew Stiles was up to something and he wouldn’t buy any of his explanations.

 

"I’d ask you if you’re alright after the crash-landing you just took down the stairs. Then again, you always seem to catch yourself in the last second and it has happened enough in the last few weeks to not be worrisome. What do you want to know?"

 

"How long does it take to knock someone out with chloroform?" Stiles realized it might have been the wrong thing to say and he hurried to explain. "I mean, I read some articles online about the effects. They say it takes about five minutes to really knock you out. What I wanna know though: does it leave a bad taste, like they say? Does it leave you hungover and with a headache? Since I don’t trust the sources I found I wanted to know if you ever experienced it? Or did one of your colleagues? Anyone with first hand experience I could ask? Also, do you know if that somehow has different effects on animals? Hypothetically, of course", he added.

 

That wasn’t an explanation at all, judging by his father’s incredulous look. Fuck.

 

"Stiles. What the hell are you up to? Are you planning on kidnapping someone? Or worse, trying chloroform on yourself, before kidnapping someone?"

 

"What? No, what the hell, Dad!"

 

"Do I have to talk to Mrs. Dunkin from the pharmacy to make sure they don’t let you buy anything?"

 

"Dad! I told you, I’m doing research for _a book_!"

 

"Somehow, I don’t believe you."

 

"Ugh, Dad! Can you please answer my questions? You don’t have to believe me for that, do you?"

 

His father sighed. A sign of defeat, something as good as a yes in that it wasn’t a no. Stiles internally cheered.

 

* * *

 

"How many people got sent to Eichen House in the past two years because of actual crimes they committed?"

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Dad, I just called to ask you something."

 

"What is it now?"

 

"Do we have any mustard left or should I get more?"

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Dad."

 

The Sheriff couldn’t help but groan. He knew that tone of voice. It wasn’t boding well for him because that voice meant that Stiles was about to ask him _something_. Something the Sheriff could live forever without ever hearing it from his son’s lips. Things like "How do I cover up a murder".

 

He kinda wished his son would tell him he was gay instead. Gay, he could get behind. That was easy. But wondering if your child was a murderer and should be charged of multiple assaults and break-ins or worse offenses. _That_ was just an awful thing to live though _on a weekly basis_. Because Stiles had questions like that. Every. Week. He was a Sheriff, for God’s sake. He thought he had actually raised his son well. He only broke the no-unhealthy-food-rule once a week, twice _tops._ He did not deserve it.

 

"God help me!", Sheriff Stilinski breathed.

 

"Dad?" Stiles sounded concerned, so the Sheriff lifted his head from the table. "Are you alright?"

 

"That depends on the question you’re about to ask."

 

"Uhh, I didn’t come here to ask a question."

 

"You didn’t?" Unconvinced, the Sheriff eyed Stiles. He looked exhausted but still giddy. Maybe nervous. And that wasn’t a good sign, either, even if there weren’t any questions.

 

"What did you do?" The Sheriff’s voice was sharper than intended. But he guessed it was better than defeat. Kids could smell defeat and that would only bring more trouble.

 

"I didn’t do anything!" Stiles’ voice was as defensive as always when he got busted.

 

Sheriff Stilinski rolled his eyes. "Sure, and I’m not your father."

 

"Hey! It wasn’t technically my fault, okay?"

 

"What wasn’t your fault!"

 

"The broken window on my jeep."

 

"The broken window on your jeep", the Sheriff deadpanned.

 

Stiles nodded, fidgeting with his hoodie.

 

"And how did your window happen to get broken? And whose fault was it?"

 

"Erm… Derek kinda — put his fist through it, in an act of", Stiles gestured wildly, "forcefully — holding on to something?"

 

There were so many questions there to ask. The Sheriff didn’t know where to start but he believed he would regret it, no matter what question he asked first.

 

"Derek. As in. Derek Hale?"

 

"Yes?" Stiles didn’t look at him.

 

"The same Derek Hale you made me take into custody once?"

 

"Maybe?"

 

"What was Derek doing in your car?"

 

"We— were about to go to pick Scott up at Deaton’s."

 

"Let me rephrase that. What kind of business does Derek generally have, being in your car?"

Stiles’ eyes snapped to his father’s and the Sheriff could only think 'here goes nothing'. He braced for the worst. He really did.

 

"Fighting off evil monsters."

 

Apparently, his worst didn’t compare to Stiles’ worst.

 

*  *  *

 

He could see that his dad didn’t believe him. He tried to be a good son. He hated lying to his father and now that he actually told the truth, his dad didn’t believe him. Stiles could relate; he wouldn’t have believed himself if he hadn’t known that werewolves existed. Seemed he would have to stick to half truths and flat-out lying again.

 

"Literally anything else would be more believable. As questionable as 'hanging out with a bunch of teenagers' would be. ' _Fighting monsters'_ , Stiles? Really? Do you need me to take you to Eichen House?"

 

Stiles could barely suppress a flinch. The Sheriff’s eyes instantly clouded with regret and worry.

Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack.

 

"God, dad no! He’s — he’s hanging out with us, okay. Remember the night I stayed at the vet with Scott?" (It had been a lie. They had been out most of the night fighting the stupid alpha pack, but the Sheriff wouldn’t ever need to know this) "Because of that sick wolf? Derek brought it in." (Not a lie, technically. Only that Derek had _been_ the sick wolf. 'Sick' being a loosely applied term here, seeing that Derek had been _bleeding out_ , again) "And he stayed all night with it, and I was picking up Scott that day. We started talking and ended up all staying there. And we kinda, I don’t know, dad. Started hanging out."

 

He wasn’t sure if his father bought his half-lie-partial-truth. He seemed a little soothed, though.

 

After a while, the interrogation continued, and Stiles barely managed to suppress his groan.

 

"And the reason that Derek thought it necessary to 'forcefully hold on to something' does fit into your very responsible driving style that I personally taught you, how, exactly?"

 

Shit. How could he explain 'a feral werewolf smashed it when it was trying to get to Derek and subsequently Stiles'?

 

"I had to avoid hitting an animal that ran on the street."

 

"What animal?"

 

"A wolf." Internally, Stiles winced. Too many wolves in his stories, too many wolves, why didn’t he say deer?

 

"And where would you encounter a wolf in this town?"

 

"At the preserve, duh."

 

"What exactly were you doing at the preserve when you were picking up Scott at _Deaton’s_?"

 

Shit shit shit. Play it cool. "C’mon, dad, what is this? I’m not a criminal, and Derek isn’t either, don’t give me that look! We were only close to the preserve because I picked Derek up there. Can you please stop treating me like a suspect now?"

 

"You certainly act like a criminal, lately, what with all the questions."

 

"Well, I’m not. So would you mind laying off a bit? Geez, you’d think I’m a child", Stiles said, already moving out the door towards the stairs, hoping so very much that this was it, and they wouldn’t have to talk about the fact that Derek _lived_ close to the preserve, in his old burned out shell of a house. Or who was going to pay for the window of his car. Or maybe the thing he actually came here to talk about—

 

"Hey, you are still a child, son. You’re still living under my roof and you’ve still been a minor not too long ago. For now you’re still my _child_. A child who’s paying his own car repairs."

 

The Sheriff’s voice carried after him. This time, Stiles didn’t suppress the groan.

 

But he would definitely have to postpone telling his father that his only barely-legal kid-son was in a relationship with Derek Hale. Shaking his head, he went to his room. He had work to do. Trapping feral werewolves and plotting didn’t get themselves done.

 

* * *

 

Stiles would have really, really liked to tell his dad that he was dating Derek _before_ movie night. It was going to be such a pain to keep his hands to himself and not to be able to cuddle up into Derek’s warm side. But it just hadn’t worked out. It also hadn’t really been the right moment last time he 'tried’ since his dad’s wrath probably already rested on Derek because of the window incident.

  
Now it was too late. Movie night had arrived and Stiles had a promise to uphold.

 

Being who he is, he even tried to set it up in a way that the Sheriff had a late shift and wouldn’t be home. But of course his dad saw right through it. Sometimes, Stiles really hated the Stilinski Cleverness.

 

It had been difficult to convince everyone to come; Lydia and Jackson were only rarely there as it was but surprisingly they were the easiest to convince after Scott and Allison. Stiles had no idea what their ulterior motives could be.

Isaac was difficult. Stiles guessed it had to do with his bad experiences with father figures. He only hoped, his dad could show him that not every father was bad.

Boyd and Erica didn’t care as long as there were snacks.

The most difficult was Derek. He had said it was because he respected the Sheriff and didn’t want to be in his bad books (he already was because of the window, not that Stiles had told him that), especially since he was dating the Sheriff’s son — which said son did not yet tell his father yet.

 

The actual persuasion was done behind closed doors after the rest of the pack had left them to the ever growing (sexual) tension between them.

 

The next morning, Stiles had just sent a group text "movie night @ my place is a go" and it was settled.

  
Scott and Allison were the first to arrive. Actually, Stiles was pretty sure Derek was the first to arrive but the Sourwolf was too chickenshit to be alone with Stiles and his dad (at least for now). So instead Derek had probably parked down the block and used his super-hearing to find out when the others arrived.

 

A minute after Stiles had closed the door behind Allison and Scott it rang again. He left them at the kitchen door where they were saying their hellos to his dad and went to open it again.

 

Boyd, Erica and Isaac stumbled through the door, all of them trying to be the first one in, pushing bags of chips and candy into Stiles’ arms. Right behind them, Lydia and Jackson entered, their heads high, even though they toned down their 'I’m perfect'-attitudes a little bit when they greeted the Sheriff, and Stiles was glad for that.

 

Derek appeared at the door the moment Stiles wanted to close it again. He gave Stiles a tight smile which he returned with a soft, happy one of his own. 

 

They didn’t talk when Stiles gestured for Derek to come inside but the moment the door was closed his Dad already stood in front of them, scrutinizing Derek.

 

He must have already told the rest of the pack to make themselves comfortable in the living room. Stiles would bet his baseball bat that they were all listening in, though, considering there was no sound coming from the room.

 

"Dad, Derek, Derek, Dad", Stiles tried to bypass the awkwardness.

And Derek really looked awkward. Totally uncomfortable, waiting to be kicked out.

 

"It’s nice to meet you, Sheriff Stilinski." Derek lifted his hand and to his credit, didn’t flinch when Stiles’ dad narrowed his eyes at him.

 

This was going better than expected.

 

"I mean, under better circumstances", Derek clarified and now he winced. Stiles internally winced with him. That wasn’t good.

 

"Derek. Welcome", Sheriff Stilinski took Derek’s hand in his firm grip, before releasing it again and gesturing to the living room. "Please, you kids have a movie night."

Huh. "What, that’s all?", Stiles asked, surprised. Then he cursed himself. He should have kept his mouth shut. Because the Sheriff lifted his eyebrows at him.

 

"That’s it _for now_ ", he turned his attention back to Derek. "There will be a day when we talk about the fact that you hang out with a bunch of teenagers. But since the whole bunch of teenagers is here right now — and from the sounds of it listening in — we’ll postpone this."

 

"Yes, sir." To everyone else, Derek might have sounded normal. To Stiles, he sounded close to a panic. It was like his voice was fraying at the edges. Could voices even do that? Stiles would have to check that. Maybe ask his dad that, just to annoy him.

 

"Now get out of here and watch a nice movie", the Sheriff interrupted Stiles’ thoughts.

 

Stiles grinned and went down the hall, only remembering in the last second _not_ to take Derek’s hand to pull him along.

 

"Later, Dad."

 

"Thanks, sir." Derek said, politely and followed suit.

 

* * *

 

The Stilinski’s were sitting comfortably at the dinner table. The Sheriff was enjoying a very peaceful meal for the first time in a few weeks. No questions being asked, eating rosemary potatoes and a very nice steak that Stiles had actually brought home himself.

 

At first, Sheriff Stilinski had been suspicious of his son’s intentions and had cautiously said hello when he entered the kitchen. When Stiles didn’t ask anything though, just pressed a couple of plates and cutlery into his hands, the Sheriff dared to relax.

 

They ate in silence, both enjoying the meat too much to think about anything else.

 

The Sheriff had just swallowed his least piece of steak when Stiles asked out of the blue, "Have you ever shot someone?"

 

Sheriff Stilinski would have choked on the delicious steak if his mouth had still been filled. As it was, he choked on air.

 

"I mean", Stiles ignored his coughing and kept going, "I know you haven’t recently. But did you ever have to shoot someone before I was born or when I was younger? Did they die? Where did it happen? Where’s that dark past of yours buried?"

 

"Why do you ask?"

 

"Stiles was quiet for a moment and the Sheriff actually expected him to say something along the line of 'you’re my father, don’t you think I should know important things like that about you?'.

But of course, Stiles unsurprisingly surprised him by stating the surprisingly unsurprising.

 

"For the book."

 

The Sheriff didn’t buy it. He would have believed a school project, an interest in his father, anything. Anything but 'a book’. He wasn’t sure what Stiles was up to, but it probably involved his friends — they all seemed very nice, but they were all so — cuddly but also predatory? Muscular and large but the looks on their faces were those of scared teenagers. Especially Isaac had reminded the Sheriff of Derek after the fire. He couldn’t even explain the whole dynamic they seemed to carry around. He was just sure there was something more to them. Was that the reason why Stiles asked? He seemed to be the smallest, skinniest of them. Did he have to prove himself? His mouth should be big enough to bring out his personality. But their personalities all seemed to occupy even more space with that weird aura surrounding them, even the quiet ones, so maybe that was the reason.

So the Sheriff answered.

 

"I shot at two people in my career. Both before you were born, one still in San Francisco. The one in San Francisco I shot into the leg. The one in Beacon Hills died. He came into the police station, threatened us, yelled at us that it was our fault that his daughter died in an accident on the bridge — because the roadworks were not visible enough. Then pulled out a gun. He started shooting and he was so close to the door that no one could get behind him. I didn’t have any other option and I don’t really regret saving my colleagues. I’m sorry he died but there was nothing else I could do. I hoped he wouldn’t die. I shot him in the stomach as it turned out. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. And he died right at the station — the ambulance barely arrived. It was messy."

 

The Sheriff stopped talking. He didn’t want to go into more detail. He hadn’t thought about that night in a long time but the guilt came rising with the memories.

 

Stiles didn’t say anything else for the rest of the dinner and they both were in their own heads.

 

They cleaned the dishes in silence. When Stiles was at the doorframe on his way to bed, he turned around.

"Hey, Dad?"

 

"Hmm?", the Sheriff looked up.

 

"Thanks. For telling me."

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey Dad, quick question!"

 

"Oh, not again", his father groaned.

 

"Hypothetically, if you were stuck in an elevator for a prolonged period of time", Stiles acted like he didn’t hear his father. "but you’re claustrophobic and therefore end up destroying the elevator — because you need to get out so badly. How would that be prosecuted? Can you get out of it? If you didn’t leave prints or whatever, could you get away with it?"

 

"If you wiped the security tapes, too, and got rid of everyone who saw you", the Sheriff said, sarcastically. "Seriously, Stiles. What is that for?"

 

"For the book. Thanks, dad!" Stiles turned around on his heels and ran up the stairs.

 

His father’s voice drifted after him. "Wait, Stiles! Did you do something? Who am I helping getting away with this? _Stiles_!"

 

* * *

 

Sheriff Stilinski was pretty certain a father wasn’t supposed to hide from his own son. But he just couldn’t take it anymore and tried to avoid the worrying and downright morbid questions his son asked lately. He worked later, tried not to be home as much in the evenings when Stiles mostly seemed to have these attacks of wanting to gain weird knowledge.

 

Of course, he missed seeing his son as much as he used to. But actions demanded reactions. Questions demanded evasion.

 

He didn’t have to worry about missing his beloved son, as it turned out. Because not two days passed since the Sheriff had forged that plan, until his son first turned up at the door of his office with another hypothetical question on his tongue.

 

And he basically yelled it through the whole station, when the Sheriff put up a finger, gesturing for him to wait and got up to get another cup of coffee. His fifth, today.

 

Stiles’ antics, giddiness and curiosity apparently made it impossible for him to wait, so instead, he followed the Sheriff and asked the question, loudly, for every present police officer to hear.

 

"How do I get rid of a dead body in the closet?"

 

Suddenly, every face in earshot turned to them.

 

"He’s writing a book!", the Sheriff exclaimed, internally groaning and cursing. Why wasn’t Stiles a normal kid?

 

Bless his coworkers, who all just turned back to their work. But they knew Stiles he basically grew up at the station. And they knew how he was, so that was probably why none of them was really all that surprised at the explanation.

 

He turned back to his son with a stern expression. "Why the hell would you ask me that in a room full of police officers? Why would you ask me that at all? I swear to god, if you actually have a body in your closet — you will  be grounded forever."

 

"Of course not", Stiles sounded insulted. "I said it was hypothetical. For the book."

 

The Sheriff snorted. It was so much more likely for his son to be involved in murder than for him to have the attention span to write a book. How was this his life? He certainly didn’t deserve it. He shook his head and filled his cup with coffee.

 

"Go sit down in my office. I have to sign a report for Parrish. After that we can talk."

 

Stiles nodded and turned to the door with a relieved smile on his face. Sheriff Stilinski did not like the implication of that at all.

 

"And try not to fall asleep while you’re waiting for me. Last time, there were drooling stains all over my files!", he yelled after his son.

 

* * *

 

"How do you get rid of large quantities of blood?"

 

The Sheriff resisted the urge to hit his head on the table.

"First of all I hope you did not do anything that would cause you to actually need a way to get rid of blood."

 

After Stiles had asked the question about the body, two days ago, Sheriff Stilinski had in fact checked every closet in the house, convinced his son had actually killed someone. He didn’t find anything to his relief. But when Stiles said he would go to movie night at Derek’s, his relief vanished and instead he was sure said body was hidden in one of Stiles’ friends closets.

 

"Second of all, why don’t you ask that particular question on the internet? Since when do you ask _me_ that stuff, anyway?"

 

"Well, since you told me that you actually shot someone in the station where you guys clean up yourself - I thought you might know. And I’d like to rely on first hand knowledge here. You’re much more trustworthy than anyone on the internet."

 

"You do realize that this kind of question is very suspicious, right after asking how to dispose of a body? What’s that for?"

 

"The book, Dad! How often do I have to say that?"

 

* * *

 

"Dad!"

 

"Son." The Sheriff sat in his chair at the station, trying to get his work done. But since Stiles appeared once again, he slid his files to the side, bracing himself for another question.

 

"I brought food," is what Stiles said instead.

 

It was as unexpected as welcome and Sheriff Stilinski grinned and beckoned Stiles in. In times like this, the Sheriff always thought that Stiles deserved the Son of the Year title. 

 

When he opened the boxes and saw the large amounts of the greasiest food, all hope that this was a normal father-and-son-bonding dinner evaporated. There was something bad to come. He wanted to take back what he thought earlier. No Son of the Year title for Stiles.

 

The Sheriff looked up at Stiles, the question already on his tongue when he saw Derek Hale standing in the door.

He stared.

 

"I thought he could maybe eat with us?" Stiles’ voice got through the smoke of working wheels in the Sheriff’s head. "Since we are going to meet up with Scott and Allison in a bit."

 

In hindsight, the Sheriff should have realized what this meant. Derek and Stiles with Scott and Allison. Like a double date. He didn’t understand that implication, though, too surprised by Derek currently standing in his doorway and looking ahead stoically as if he was expecting to be told off any second. Sheriff Stilinski took pity on him.

 

"Sit down, Derek. Stiles bought enough food for the three of us and he won’t let me eat the greasiest stuff anyway."

 

There was a small, pleased smile on Derek’s face when he finally entered the room and sat down next to Stiles.

 

"Thank you, sir."

 

The Sheriff waved him off.

 

They dug in for a bit in silence. His son didn’t even tell him off for taking an extra load of steak.

 

The Sheriff was just about to ask Derek the questions he had threatened with at Movie Night, because he really liked to know why he started hanging out with _teenagers_ , when Stiles cut him short, "So dad, I have a question about that murder case you had a few years back."

 

Sheriff Stilinski should have seen that coming. This was Stiles after all. 

With a questioning look and a wave of the hand indicating that he was listening, the Sheriff took a sip of his soda.

 

"The case where someone tried to dissolve the body in acid but it backfired?"

 

The Sheriff choked on his drink. It took a few coughs and Stiles dutifully patting his back to clear his throat.

 

"How do you know of that case? You were _nine_. And I never told you."

 

"Dad, seriously? I read almost all of your files, back then. The only thing I can’t remember was what acid they used. Because usually hydrofluoric acid seems like a very efficient method, only that the method they used wasn’t all that effective, so I was wondering what acid they had been using."

 

There was _no way_ his son was asking him this. No way.

Stiles grew uncomfortable by his continuous silence and staring (Derek on the other hand, seemed close to laughing at Stiles and the Sheriff appreciated that). But the Sheriff just could not imagine why Stiles would ask that.

 

"Dad?"

 

"Okay, first of all. _Why_." He was sure that single word expressed all the despair of parenthood.

 

"For the book." Stiles was actually rolling his eyes at him.

 

"I mean", Sheriff Stilinski kept blowing on, "apparently you already know how to 'more efficiently' dissolve a body. So why ask how to do a crappy job of it? Second of all. I’m not only your father, I am the Sheriff of this town and you should _not_ tell me about your plans to murder someone. Ever. What am I even saying! Scratch that, you should under no circumstances kill someone. So you won’t have a reason to dissolve them."

 

Stiles’ eyes flickered to Derek.

 

"Oh my god", the Sheriff groaned. "You did kill someone, didn’t you? Wait, don’t tell me. Especially not here. Goddammit, Stiles. If you guys have something to tell me about murders, I suggest we talk tonight at home."

 

Stiles threw another look at Derek — and it was like there was a whole conversation happening between them in just a few seconds — before returning his attention to his father.

 

"Alright, we get it — talking will be done only at home. Do you actually think we’re _that_ stupid? That we come to the station to ask you how to cover up a murder? Thanks dad." Again, Stiles rolled his eyes. "As I said, this is for the book. So please, could you tell me what acid they used? Or do you want me to hack into the police computer?"

 

"God no, Stiles. I have the feeling you’re doing enough shady if not downright illegal things already, with your whole questioning."

 

The Sheriff sighed and rubbed his eyes. He remembered that case. He had been careful to keep Stiles away from it. And he could have sworn he had succeeded. He even locked every file in the house into a safe. But to no avail, it seemed. That body had been one hell of a view.

 

"To be honest, I have no clue why you don’t remember the name of the acid. It’s called 'piranha’. Should be something that big brain of yours hangs onto. It’s a mixture of — something. I’m no scientist, son", he said when Stiles opened his mouth to interject, "go ask the internet or something. What I know is that it loses its efficacy pretty fast because of one of the components evaporating."

 

The Sheriff shook his head. "Now, finish eating. Follow Derek’s example and be quiet. Let me have my greasy food in peace."

 

* * *

 

Stiles had his head shamelessly pillowed in Derek’s lap (Derek’s lap was his favorite place on earth — in every position). They were at Casa de Stilinski waiting (in Stiles’ case anxiously) for the Sheriff to come home.

Stiles currently exploited Derek’s werewolf strength to be as comfortable as possible. One of Derek’s hands was buried in his’ hair, the other held a notepad hovering over Stiles head in which Stiles was scribbling away while using his other hand to check out info on his phone.

(Derek was secretly waiting for Stiles to drop the phone right onto his nose).

 

"My Dad still doesn’t believe that I’m writing a book", Stiles said, while clicking through some internet forum.

 

Derek snorted. "You really expect him to believe that? Come on. He _knows_ you. And he might not yet know about the werewolf business but he’s not stupid, he knows you’ve been up to _something_ the last few years.

 

"Ugh, don’t remind me that we’re going to tell him tonight."

 

"You just asked him how you can dissolve a body, and what went wrong with the last one he found. Why would he believe anything you say that doesn’t lead up to 'I’m covering up a murder'. I’m pretty sure, as much as he loves you, he kinda gave up hope on you not being a criminal. And he’s probably blaming me for that."

 

"Dude, where’s your confidence? He’s not blaming you. He’s not going to blame you. He knows whatever I do is on me. Which. You know, true. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to."

 

Derek rolled his eyes at him. Stiles knew that without looking. He doesn’t remember when they started having such a loving relationship, really. Emphasis on loving. Okay, he does. It started the moment Derek appeared in his room for the first time and threw Stiles against the door. Stiles never recovered from that one. It had been torturous. At least, when Derek was throwing him into things now, it was usually leading up to naked skin and shuddering orgasms.

 

"Can I have my arm back now?", Derek asked suddenly, tugging at Stiles’ hair to get his attention. "It starts to hurt."

 

"Are you kidding me? That was barely 20 minutes", Stiles said, incredulous. "Shouldn’t you have, like, werewolf stamina?" He waggled his eyes.

 

"Stiles." Oh, if eyebrows could kill. Stiles would be long gone. And his father would be none-the-wiser. Maybe he would have believed that the research for the book had killed Stiles. Wouldn’t that have been ironic.

 

Stiles was pretty sure it was a bad idea to tell his father about all the dangerous things he’s been up to, about the werewolves in town and the threats from outside.

 

Not only did he not want his dad to get involved and subsequently hurt, but he also feared that it wasn’t the best idea to start with _that mess_ when trying to come out to his dad and telling him about Derek.

 

Still, he had set the foundations this afternoon and he couldn’t take it back anymore, even if he wanted. Telling his dad he was dating Derek wouldn’t answer the question of why he wanted to know about specific murders. Especially not, if not even 'writing a book’ was convincing enough.

 

So Stiles and Derek had decided to soften the blow and start with the basic werewolf stuff and leaving the relationship for another time in the near future, hoping the countless times Derek saved Stiles (it didn’t sit right with Stiles to let the right count — 14:5 for Stiles — fall under the table because he was damn well leading, but his dad would probably react better to Derek jumping into danger after Stiles than the other way around) would make the Sheriff more comfortable with his son dating an 'older' man.

Stiles dreaded the moment he would have to say any of this out loud and the moment was creeping closer too fast for his taste.

 

"Your dad’s here", Derek pulled Stiles out of his thoughts. Stiles scrambled up and to the other side of the couch. His dad really didn’t have to find him lying in Derek’s lap right now.

 

* * *

 

Logically, the Sheriff knew he should be questioning his son’s motives and actions. He should be involved in his son’s life. Especially if said son was up to legally questionable things.

 

As a father, he really wanted to know. As a sheriff, it was just easier to pretend (at least to other people) that Stiles was writing a book and that’s why he asked all these random, very suspicious questions and why he was found on crime scenes and at old burned out houses. Because as long as he didn’t know specific facts, he didn’t have to arrest his son.

  
He was still contemplating whether he did or did not want to know the truth when he came to a halt in the driveway behind Stiles’ jeep.

Derek’s flashy car was parked at the curb.

The Sheriff heaved a sigh and climbed out of his car. Time to face his son.

 

"Stiles? Derek? I’m home." His voice carried through the house that was too silent.

A few steps into the hall he saw Stiles and Derek sitting on opposite sides of the couch, looking at him. He pulled off his jacket slowly and was acutely aware of Stiles’ fiddling and their matching anxious expressions.

Neither of them answered.

So the Sheriff took matters into his own hands as he sat down in the chair across from them.

 

"You can start explaining now. Why all the alarming questions? And 'writing a book' is not a good enough explanation this time. And why is Derek even _present_ for this conversation?"

 

The Sheriff’s eyes bore into Derek’s who shrunk back in on himself. It made the Sheriff sad how easily Derek closed off to the world, how much of the sixteen year old boy he once talked to was still in him. He wasn’t affected enough to tone down his glare, though. Derek was older and Sheriff Stilinski wanted a reason why he kept hanging out with a bunch of teenagers.

 

"Dad! Leave him alone." Stiles sounded surprisingly protective and worried on Derek’s behalf. The Sheriff couldn’t fault him for that because Derek started to look a little panicked.

 

So he turned his attention back to Stiles.

"Talk."

 

Stiles started to fidget. "Uhm. So. I might not have been completely honest about what I did the last two years."

 

"Really", the Sheriff said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Stiles threw up his hands, irritated, "I’m sorry, I’m a bad liar."

 

This caused the Sheriff to roll his eyes. Stiles sighed.

 

"And I’m sorry I lied to you. But I don’t want you in danger."

 

"In danger? That supposed to make me feel better?", the Sheriff asked.

 

"Well, see. That night in the woods, when Scott and me went to the crime scene? Scott got bitten."

 

"Bitten? By what?"

 

Stiles glanced at Derek, looking for backup.

 

Derek’s voice was calm when he said, "by a werewolf."

 

God knows, the Sheriff has had it up to here with the weird questions, the lies and the stupid excuses. So yeah, he wasn’t buying any of it. He wouldn’t have ever bought it. In fact, he was completely unimpressed by this excuse. It seemed to lack any originality or style, really. So, in that very unimpressed manner, he stared at Derek. A few seconds later, he raised an eyebrow for good measure.

Derek and Stiles were both anxiously waiting for his reaction.

 

"I’m waiting for the punchline", he said.

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, like he thought that was the completely wrong thing to say.

 

"He’s not joking, Dad."

 

"Oh, sure. And your book is real, too."

 

Stiles’ face was twisted in a pained and offended expression.

 

"C’mon, Dad. Derek, show him."

 

Derek sent Stiles and uncertain glance but then proceeded to get up.

 

"I’m not going to hurt you, sir. Please don’t freak out."

 

And suddenly his face was a contorted mask.

 

"Oh my god." Sheriff Stilinski flinched back in his arm chair but even if he had wanted to flee, he didn’t think his legs would’ve carried him. Instinctively, he had reached for his gun that wasn’t there. He’d left it at work.

 

"Stiles, get the hell away from him."

 

And he could swear he saw hurt flickering through those red eyes, even as Stiles closed his hand around Derek’s — _the werewolf’s_ — forearm. Derek — shifted? — back to human form, the moment Stiles touched him.

 

"I’m not going to do that, Dad", Stiles said, the same hurt lacing his voice that the Sheriff had seen in Derek’s eyes.

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Derek who now looked as human as before. Despite his large size, he looked small and cowed, waiting for judgment.

Sheriff Stilinski was glad that his weapon had been out of reach. This was still Derek Hale who might not have the best track record but whom the Sheriff had seen after his house had burned down and who he was certain had a good heart.

 

"Sit down. Both of you. And explain what went on in the past two years."

 

*  *  *

 

"So that body and the blood you wanted to get rid of, lately?"

 

"There was this pack in town", Derek said. "One of them tried to attack Stiles and I warned them what would happen if they came too close to him." His voice was hard, daring the Sheriff to comment on that.

 

He wasn’t going to. It was a lot to take in. He didn’t particularly approve of lethal forces being applied but he couldn’t argue that he wouldn’t have done the same for Stiles. It made him wonder what exactly Derek would be ready to do for Stiles.

From some parts of the story it seemed like Stiles would do a lot to make sure Derek was safe in return. That, the Sheriff didn’t know how comfortable he was with.

He also had to digest that there were werewolves in town. And other creatures. A — banshee? — Stiles had said. That was Lydia. And Scott a werewolf. God. Why were all the kids involved in this? And hunters, for God’s sake. This really called for trouble.

 

Slowly, the Sheriff blinked. "Alright. Movie nights — or pack nights you called it? — will now take place here more regularly. You keep me in the loop as much as possible. I will also talk to Chris Argent and Melissa. I really am mad that I’m the only one not being in the know and simultaneously being the one with the biggest influence."

 

His accusing stare was on Stiles, who looked guilty.

 

"I’m sorry, Dad. I just didn’t want you to be in danger!"

 

"Oh, and you think _I’m_ comfortable with _you_ being in danger pretty much constantly for the past two years?"

 

"I know you’re not", Stiles voice got louder. "But don’t you think I worry enough as it is, with you being a cop? I can’t lose you, too!" With the last word, his voice broke and he looked down at his hands.

There was something deep inside the Sheriff being torn open. The pain of Claudia’s death that hadn’t really subsided but which he had closed up in a box in his chest broke and flooded his whole being with the despair and loneliness her death left behind.

 

And he knew what Stiles feared. But he feared the same. "Don’t you think I feel the same way?", Sheriff Stilinski answered quietly.

 

Stiles looked into his father’s eyes and they shared a moment full of understanding, their shared pain lying like a blanket around them.

 

"I’m not happy with you not telling me, son. But it is what it is and we can’t change it anymore. But I expect to be involved from now on!"

 

When Stiles nodded, the Sheriff looked at Derek, who mirrored Stiles.

 

"To be fair", Stiles got bold again, "I did tell you once that I was monster hunting but you didn’t believe me."

 

The Sheriff rewarded his son with a glare and a "get out of my hair now, both of you. Derek — you better head home now."

 

They both scrambled to get out of the room as fast as they could.

 

* * *

 

"Hypothetically, what’s a fast acting poison that kills humans as well as werewolves?"

 

"Shouldn’t _I_ be the one asking you that? You’re the one familiar with werewolf lore."

 

"I’m asking you, 'cause you know about humans."

 

"Is there some kind of threat? If it’s a human threat you should leave it to me, the _sheriff_!"

 

"It’s a hypothetical question for the book."

 

"Of course it is. We talked about the lying."

 

"I’m not lying."

 

* * *

 

"What if I had to help someone who kinda accidentally poison but I couldn’t take them to the hospital?"

 

"Stiles!"

 

"What? I’m sorry but the wrong person inhaled the powder, it wasn’t my fault!"

 

"Who? And where are you? I’m coming right away."

 

"We’re in the woods, cars are parked at the old Hale house. And it’s only Peter, it’s not like I would mind if he died." The Sheriff could hear a muffled but pained cry through the phone, as he pulled his jacket off the chair and grabbed the keys.

 

Stiles ignored the cry in favor of talking to his dad instead. "Usually I’d just take him to Deaton’s but he’s out of town with Derek for a while, I have no idea where to take him but I can’t exactly take him to the hospital."

 

"Stiles, why the hell are you alone in the woods with _Peter_ Hale! Derek is one thing, but _Peter_? And why can you not take him to the hospital?"

 

"Uh — because he’s kinda stuck in his shift? Honestly, I’d like to just leave him here but I thought that maybe asked for your approval first and maybe Derek’s since it’s his creepy uncle."  
The words 'creepy uncle' didn’t sit well with the Sheriff at all in combination with 'his son', 'alone' and 'in the woods'.

 

"God, Stiles. Where’s the rest of your friends?"

 

"Chasing the bad guy with Chris Argent. And Argent kinda told me to take care of Peter. He seemed kinda scared that Peter’s hurt which is hilarious because Peter kinda deserves all the pain, to be honest. And anyway, if Chris hadn’t been that insistent about it, I wouldn’t have stayed with Peter, I’d rather —"

 

"Stiles! Stop talking. _Breathe_. And call Melissa. Tell her what he took and where you are. I’m on my way."

 

* * *

 

"What are you doing?", asked the Sheriff incredulously, leaning on Stiles’ opened door.

 

"I’m researching for a book", Stiles answered not looking up from where he was scribbling into a notebook.

 

"Kid, I didn’t believe that before I knew about werewolves, why do you think I’ll believe it now? Maybe just stop lying about it. What’s up with that." He motioned around the room, encompassing, well, everything.

 

There was a chess board set up in front of Stiles and its pieces were labelled with colored post-its. No way in hell Stiles was doing research for a book. When Stiles had told him about the whole werewolf business, he had mentioned a chess board and how he used it to understand the situation.

 

"You used the chess board before when that _thing_ got a hold of you, so what would keep you from doing it again?", the Sheriff accused.

 

"Uhh, originality? I’m not recycling methods to kill evil creatures, dad." Stiles actually looked offended.

 

"Originality. Uh huh. Like the 'I’m writing a book’-excuse? Sure."

 

"Anything particular you want, dad?", Stiles huffed out in annoyance.

 

"Just wanted to know if you’d like to go to the Indian place." Stiles’ head shot up. A second later he seemed to have processed what his father had said because he scrambled.

 

"Oh, yes, I’ll be down right now!"

 

"Maybe you want to ask Derek along?" The Sheriff kept his eyes on Stiles, closely taking in every movement. He seemed genuinely surprised.

 

"What? Why would I do that?" Stiles stared at him confused. Sheriff Stilinski could swear, though, that there was a light blush rising up the boy’s neck. Huh. Interesting. Either there was nothing to the Sheriff’s theory or Stiles was a better actor than he gave him credit for. He didn’t bother explaining his thoughts to Stiles but instead said, "Well, he doesn’t have a lot of family, does he now? Apart from a bunch of teenagers. I thought he might like a 'normal family' experience once in a while and talk to an actual grown up for a change, don’t you?"

 

It was as much of an explanation as Stiles would get. He looked back at the Sheriff like he was an alien and it was kind of hilarious. He hadn’t thought he could surprise his son as much as Stiles sometimes managed to surprise him.

 

"So?", he asked.

 

When Stiles nodded, the Sheriff turned and went to the stairs, he heard Stiles say " _what_ " and chuckled to himself.

 

* * *

 

Dinner at the restaurant had been very informative. The Sheriff was now sure that there was _something_ between Stiles and Derek. They were very careful about it and very successful at hiding it. But sometimes, when they thought the Sheriff’s attention was on his food they exchanged glances that reminded him of Claudia. It was like a whole silent conversation going on in these glances and there weren’t a lot of people the Sheriff had seen like that — most of them were lovers. They also snuck glances at one another during dinner and they were so full of love it was painful to see.

 

The Sheriff didn’t know what to do about this information.

 

Of course, he had suspected it — it was the only reason he started this investigation after all. But now he had — well, proof might still be too much to say — some certainty.

He wasn’t overly fond of the idea that his son was dating an older man.

 

The problem wasn’t the male thing. Hell, a few weeks ago he _prayed_ his son would tell him he was gay. But couldn’t a father get a break once in a while? A gay son that dated an _older_ werewolf and regularly was in _mortal_ danger? Not a thing he wished for anyone including himself.

Sheriff Stilinski was probably most annoyed — he wasn’t angry, he had to accept his son’s choices anyway, might as well start now — about the age difference. The werewolf thing — well, what difference did it make if one’s boyfriend was a supernatural being if your best friend was one? And the Sheriff couldn’t get rid of the mortal danger if he didn’t get rid of Scott in Stiles’ life either, and he wasn’t _that_ cruel.

 

Another fact to go with it was that the older guy was _Derek Hale_. And Derek had been through enough already. Sheriff Stilinski had been there on the night of the fire. He knew what Derek had lost — recently including also his older sister. And he was a very nice person; he was always kind and actually courteous. Whenever the Sheriff talked to him, he realized that the boy wasn’t used to people being nice to him and it hurt to see, made the Sheriff want to do nice things for him once in a while and, admittedly, he was glad his son was nice to Derek and that he spent some time with him. Because he knew Stiles was a person you could rely on when you were in his heart. God knew, Derek needed people that were there for him.

 

This all led to only one conclusion. Accept it. He still didn’t know if he should outright ask them if they were dating — he could jump the gun on them and their feelings. What if they didn’t get over themselves and didn’t know yet what they felt? So no; just play along until Stiles told him. For their sake, he hoped that would be soon. Because they both needed some comfort and not to be hiding their (might-be) relationship.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"What would you say is the most efficient way to kill someone?"

 

The Sheriff lifted his eyebrows. The conversation had been about school just a few seconds ago. 

 

He picked on his asparagus and asked Stiles, "A human or supernatural someone?"

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I think I am informed and equipped enough for supernatural killings, thanks. I meant human."

 

The Sheriff should be uncomfortable with that statement. His son shouldn’t know how to kill anyone. But it was strangely comforting to know that he didn’t go into these dangers completely unprepared (especially because he knew he couldn’t keep Stiles from going there at all). And now he was about to tell him a few more ways to kill someone. Efficiently. In times like these, Sheriff Stilinski mourned the easy life they had two years ago. A thought came to him.

 

"Please tell me there’s no human threat you’re after now! You won’t kill humans, now? Because then I won’t tell you anything and you’re going to be grounded."

 

"No, Dad! I told you everything", Stiles’ nose twitched when he said it so the Sheriff knew, 'everything' did not mean 'everything' at all. "I don’t want to go off killing humans, are you mad? It’s for the book! A totally hypothetical question. And anyway, if there were human problems I would leave them to Chris Argent. I have enough of hunter problems forever."

 

There was a story behind that statement, but the Sheriff did not want to hear that right now. Maybe someday. He still didn’t buy the book excuse, but since he had answered so many of his son’s questions already he figured answering another couldn’t hurt too much. Maybe the pack did have to handle some human hunter again in the future, despite Stiles' efforts to leave that problem for the Argents to handle. It would probably be good for them to know how to go about it, then. The Sheriff despised that he could be a driving force in any future murder. But his son needed at least some protection and if he could provide that, well, so be it. He just hoped Stiles would never be the one to go through with it, or even be present for it.

 

"Efficient how?", he asked. "As in fastest, most painful or looking like natural causes death? Wait, scratch that — I won’t say anything about most painful."

 

Stiles seemed surprised at his willingness to answer his questions. "Both, if you don’t mind."

 

'If he didn’t mind'. Sheriff Stilinski snorted.

He minded a great deal but what else was he supposed to do? Let his son ask these questions online? Where everything could be traced back to him? Even if he had told Stiles to do that, previously, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with that idea.

So he listed different methods.

Their conversation lasted all through dinner but the Sheriff didn’t forget that Stiles still lied to him about something.

 

When they were getting up and collected dishes, he asked, "Son. What else is there that you didn’t tell me about?"

 

"What?" Stiles seemed actually confused so the Sheriff elaborated.

 

"When you said you told me everything your nose twitched. Don’t give me that look! I know that means that you’re lying."

 

Now, Stiles just looked cornered and defeated.

 

"Dad!", he whined.

 

"No. Don’t 'Dad' me. I want an answer."

 

"Dad, I’ve told you almost everything about my life all of last week. Don’t you think I get to keep one piece of information about personal stuff to myself at least for a little while longer?"

 

"Personal stuff", the Sheriff echoed, dubiously. Something dawned on him. "Oh god, did someone hurt you? Do you have a wound you didn’t tell me about?"

 

Stiles started laughing. "Oh my god, Dad! How did you even get there? 'Personal stuff' does not relate to me being wounded or sick, what the hell?" He shook his head, still talking. "I just don’t wanna tell you about Derek and me dating, yet."

 

Stiles eyes went wide and the horror in his expression was priceless. Now it was Sheriff Stilinski’s turn to laugh. He laughed so hard he had to sit down.

 

Stiles horrified expression vanished, replaced by a scowl. "Dad, I’m not joking!"

 

Taking deep breaths, the Sheriff tried to calm himself. "I know. But are you sure? You have five seconds to take it back and tell me it was a joke."

His son narrowed his eyes at him and crossed his arms. "I’m sure", he said, resolutely.

 

The Sheriff nodded. "Well, good. I was wondering when you would tell me."

 

He got up, piling the neglected plates into the sink. He threw Stiles a glance who stared back in stunned silence. He was silent for so long that the Sheriff went over and snapped his fingers in front of Stiles’ face.

 

"Stiles?"

 

He blinked and when he spoke his voice was a whisper. "You knew?"

 

The Sheriff only nodded.

 

"You _knew_?", Stiles repeated, very much louder this time around. So loud the Sheriff took a step back instinctively.

 

"Well, I had my suspicions and you weren’t _that_ subtle at dinner the other night."

 

"You know and didn’t tell me?" Stiles actually sounded accusing.

 

The Sheriff snorted, amused. "What, was _I_ supposed to tell you that you are dating Derek? I thought you should tell me that but I may be wrong."

 

"No, I just — so you’re not angry?", Stiles asked carefully. The Sheriff put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

 

"Why would I be angry, son? I thought about it. What I find most irritating is the age difference, but then again, Derek deserves to have good people to lean on. And if there’s one thing you are, it’s loyal and fierce when you love someone. He lost a lot and I won’t take anything from him that he’s got right now — not that I could make you do anything, anyway."

 

"Dad, I—"

 

"No, son. It’s alright." He ignored the tears that gathered in Stiles’ eyes, grateful his son returned the favor.

 

"I just didn’t think you would take it very well, especially after finding out about all the werewolf business."

 

"As I said. I thought about it. And I can’t justify disapproving of your boyfriend without disapproving of your best friend. Melissa would have my head." He shuddered at the thought and sympathetic fear flickered over Stiles’ face before he laughed.

 

"She would definitely have your head. Never mind you’re the sheriff." Stiles laughed again looking way happier now than he had in a while, as if glad his dad finally knew the truth. The Sheriff couldn’t take it anymore and pulled his son in for a tight hug.

 

* * *

 

"Hello, Sheriff." 

 

"Mr. Hale." Sheriff Stilinski’s answer thankfully lacked all his desperation and annoyance. He just wanted to go grocery shopping in private and in silence. Was that too much to ask? And why was it Peter Hale of all people he had to encounter here?

 

"The whole elevator thing was a really good scene, wasn’t it?"

 

"Oh god, were you the one who destroyed an elevator because you got stuck? Please tell me I did not help setting you free without at least a bail."

 

Peter smiled his creepy I-know-better-than-you-smile. To his dismay, the Sheriff had seen it so often already, that he could actually distinguish it. "Stiles said you might say that. I actually didn’t quite believe him. So I had to come here to see for myself."

 

"What are you talking about?", Sheriff Stilinski asked. He still was no closer to finding out what was going on. He knew about the werewolves now, but there were still things the pack was keeping from him. It was annoying, to say the least.

 

Peter shook his head. "It’s not my place to tell", and with the blink of an eye, he was gone.

 

The Sheriff cursed, a little too loud for a man in his position it seemed, because he received a glare from a mother ushering away her little son. Great. The Hales were going to be the death of him. Well, after Stiles, he thought to himself and put an extra large package of bacon into the shopping cart.

 

* * *

 

"In which state could Derek and I legally adopt a baby, Dad?"

 

No. Just no. It was too early in the morning to deal with this. It was too early in Stiles _life_.

 

"No. Nonono." The Sheriff said out loud, horrified, slowly backing out of the kitchen.

 

"Hypothetically, Dad!", Stiles yelled after him.

 

" _No!_ ", the Sheriff threw over his shoulder with emphasis as he pretty much fled the house.

 

As soon as he sat in the car, he took a deep breath, trying and failing to banish the things Stiles’ had said from his mind. He shook his head, let out a miserable whine that luckily no one had heard. He counted to ten and breathed.

 

When he reached eight, Stiles opened the door.

 

"Are you having a heart attack, Dad?" His voice was full of concern. "I really do not plan on adopting a kid anytime soon!"

 

It wasn’t as comforting as Stiles seemed to hope. He glared at his son. "I am _not_ having this conversation."

 

"But Dad, at some point you might have to, anyway. What does it matter if we have it now or later? Can you please give me a list of states?"

 

"And how do you think I’d know that? You probably looked it up already, didn’t you? Just wanted to gauge my reaction." He rubbed his eyes. "Stiles, please. I cannot have this conversation right now."

 

Stiles nodded, thankfully, and said "Have a good day at work."

 

After Stiles pushed the door close and went back inside, the Sheriff focused on breakfast. Or rather the coffee and breakfast he didn’t get to eat. Because of his impossible son. He sighed. The gas station would have to do for a quick breakfast, he thought as he turned on the engine. On his way to the station, a shudder was going through him every couple of seconds.

Over the course of the day, though, the shudders were getting less, his mind occupied and he slowly forgot his son had uttered these words.

 

* * *

 

"Dad?" There was this particular tone in Stiles voice again. The Sheriff wondered why he hadn’t stayed late at work.

 

He was barely through the door and Stiles called him promptly to ask something ridiculous and alarming.

 

"Yes, son?", he called back.

 

"Can you come here for a second, I’ve got a question!"

 

Suppressing a sigh, the Sheriff followed his son’s voice to the living room and immediately regretted it.

 

He groaned. "Stiles, can you please sit up and move over a little? Just because I didn’t disapprove it doesn’t mean I want to see my son lying in his boyfriend’s lap in my house."

 

Ever since Stiles had told him about their relationship, Derek had been over more frequently, sometimes with, sometimes without the pack. Regularly meaning _constantly_. Pretty much every night for the past two weeks. The Sheriff liked the company, like to have people in the house. But he didn’t want to watch his son kiss an older guy. He wasn’t into PDA, especially not his son’s, okay.

 

Stiles looked at Derek for help, who only raised his impressive eyebrows (he had even raised them at the Sheriff once, now he found them more impressive than before — really made him feel like Derek had called him out on being stupid without saying a word — rightfully so, otherwise the Sheriff would not have accepted it within two weeks of him knowing of this relationship).

Now, these eyebrows were directed at Stiles and did say very clearly 'I told you so'.  
Stiles simultaneously looked offended and rolled his eyes while he _crawled_ off of Derek.

 

"So, I wanted to ask, hypothetically", he started without checking if his father was still listening. 

 

The Sheriff pressed his lips together. _Hypothetically_ , yeah right. This probably was 'for the book' again.

 

"Assuming you had two shakers, and one was filled with glass shards, but the other was good to use for smoothies. And someone used the one with the glass shards for his smoothie and, I don’t know the glass was very fine, so they wouldn’t realize it until drinking and died of the consequences — would that be murder?"

 

Sheriff Stilinski _stared_. He might even have believed that this was for an actual book, now, if it wasn’t for Derek and Stiles’ very serious and sincere expressions.

 

"That is—", he shook himself and searched for the right words, "a highly specific question. Care to explain how you came to ask it?"

 

A pause.

 

"Erm… well, since I’m writing that book — Derek and I were talking about how glass powder in the lung is dangerous and so he had to be careful when doing that project with the glass panels during the rebuilt of his house, so."

 

The Sheriff could feel his eyes going out of focus, trying to process his son’s babbling. None of it made any sense. Then again, he wasn’t in Stiles’ head. He was used to the boy having weird jumps in his thoughts.

 

He was also still hung up by the specificity of that question. "Did you accidentally kill someone with glass shards in their drink?", Sheriff Stilinski asked, horrified.

 

"No!" The answer was instant. As in, decidedly too fast. From _both of them_. He was sure he didn’t want to know. He was a bad sheriff, not wanting to know about the crimes committed in his town.

But there was this point, where you just started not to care anymore. And he had arrived at this point. He was done. With everything criminal including supernatural and his son. He just wished his son got that memo and stopped with these awful questions.

He was so done.

 

"Counts as murder if it was premeditated", he said and turned on his heels. He just wanted to go to bed and leave this conversation and all previous, similar conversations behind.

 

"And no more questions", he yelled back to the living room. He didn’t sound as stern as he had planned but a lot more desperate.

 

"I think you broke him", Derek’s (impolitely unconcerned) voice drifted after a mildly affronted Sheriff. Then again, Derek was probably right. The increasingly weird questions were grating on his nerves. He was glad his brain hadn’t gone into overdrive yet.

 

* * *

 

"Do you think I can ask my dad some more questions?"

 

Derek snorted in response. "Just to be safe, don’t talk to him about it for the next few weeks. Only tell him about life-threatening situations when they occur and don’t ask anything that could be interpreted as you trying to get away with murder anymore."

 

"But I _need_ information! I mean, how am I supposed to get through all this shit without good input?"

 

"You call that 'good input'? What does your dad shooting someone help you with actually solving things that went wrong or don’t fit together? And it’s not like you have any questions right now."

 

"Well, it’s better than googling 'my werewolf buddy got trapped in a mountain-ash ring, but I’m not there to help him out; what do I tell the police so they help him and don’t ask questions?' Like _that_ couldn’t go wrong."

 

"Well, to be fair, we’ve never been in a situation like that."

"Yes!", Stiles yelled, maybe a little too loud. "Because I’ve _always been there_!"

 

"Stiles", Derek tried to soothe him. "Relax, would you? We’re not going to be in a situation like that, okay? We don’t even have a feral werewolf in town right now! Or any other creature that is not pack related. Not even hunters apart from Chris."

 

Stiles stared at his boyfriend. Sometimes he couldn’t believe he dated such a dork. And that he was so blissfully unaware about the actual cause of Stiles’ freakout.

 

"You don’t even know what this is about, do you?"

 

"Of course I do." Derek rolled his eyes, but put an arm around Stiles’ shoulder nonetheless and pulled him closer. Stiles pressed his face into Derek’s leather jacket and breathed in his smell, trying to forget the hard plastic chairs they were sitting on.

 

"It’s gonna be alright. They will love you."

 

"Are you sure? I’m me, after all", Stiles said, self-deprecatingly. Derek squeezed his shoulder.

 

"Well, I love you, so I’m pretty sure other people could, too."

 

Stiles heart skipped a beat and he looked up at Derek with big eyes. Derek hadn’t ever said that before.

 

"You do?", he breathed.

 

Derek nodded, a warm smile on his lips, where a year ago had always been a dark frown. Now, Stiles could see everything in his unguarded eyes. "Yeah. I do."

 

"I love you, too", Stiles said, and pressed a soft kiss to Derek’s lips.

 

"Mr. Stilinski?", a young woman said at the office door. Derek and Stiles looked up.

 

"Mrs. Anderson is waiting for you." She sent them a professional smile and indicated for Stiles to follow her.

 

Stiles got up, straightening his suit. He leaned back down to kiss Derek one more time.

 

"Thank you so much for your support on this." He felt ready to do this, still lightheaded from Derek’s admission. This would go well. He took a deep breath, following the secretary. He heard Derek call after him, the grin audible in his voice.

 

"Go get that publishing contract!"

 

* * *

 

"You wrote a book." Sheriff Stilinski sounded flabbergasted, staring at _the book_ lying in front of him. "You _actually_ wrote a book."

 

"I _told_ you, dad."

 

The Sheriff sat down heavily. "I did not see this coming."

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Dad, you know I love you, but when exactly did you turn into a horrible cop? And a bad parental figure, too."

 

"What? I’m the best father you have, son, as bad as I might  have been at my job."

 

"You’ve been the worst parent, dad. You didn’t support me at all with this book." Stiles fake-pouted.

 

The Sheriff snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

"You had fun when I didn’t believe you. I swear you only started writing that book the last few months, just because you started using it as an excuse and when I didn’t believe you, you wrote one, just to annoy me more", Sheriff Stilinski accused.

 

"You have no proof!", Stiles voice was pitched higher than usual at this incredibly wrong accusation. "I did no such thing!", he added quickly, when he realized that his tone was as good as an admission.

 

Something dawned on the Sheriff, and he narrowed his eyes at Stiles.

 

"So when I asked you, if you or Scott ever ran someone over…? You very successfully avoided to answer, son. I’d like one now."

 

"I -", Stiles started. He looked down at his feet, guiltily, fiddling with his hoodie. "Well, I hadn’t _lately_!", he bursted out and rushed to explain. "It was just Derek, dad! And he was a douche back then, and I didn’t really hit him anyway, but I wish I had. He was exaggerating his bullet wound and that’s why he fell down right in front of my car. So I didn’t technically hit him, and I hadn’t hit anyone else when I asked you that."

 

His dad had this weird look in his eyes, the one he got whenever Stiles started to ramble, like he focused out of the world, in order to heighten his other senses, his ability to listen to and understand everything Stiles said. After a moment, he focused back on Stiles who held his breath. When he spoke, his voice was a little horrified, like he dreaded the answer. "Did you hit someone after that?"

 

"I- might have?"

 

"Stiles! Did you ask me so you could run someone over _premeditated_?"

 

" _What._ " Stiles couldn’t even make it a question. He stared at his dad. "Did you really just say that? Do you really think of me as someone who would do _that_?"

 

"Well, I did think I raised you better than that but since there was a lot going on in the past few years — that I didn’t know about — I just wanted to make sure to ask. As a cop. As a dad I really hope you wouldn’t do that."

 

Stiles sighed. "I didn’t. And I told you back then, it was _hypothetical_. It was for the _book_."

 

"You didn’t tell me about the book back then", the Sheriff defended himself. "My argument still stands — the book was a lie. Maybe you even felt bad about lying so that you actually made it a book. Or it was your determination."

 

Throwing his hands in the air, Stiles got up.

 

"I can’t win, can I," he asked.

 

His dad answered with a chuckle.

 

Stiles watched, grinning, waiting for the inevitable, as his father picked up the book and shook his head in disbelief.

 

"You just couldn’t resist, could you?", he asked, tapping his index finger against the title like Stiles knew he would.

 

In big bold letters it said "Hypothetically".

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the ideas for questions and/or their answers may be taken from tumblr, some are given by my friends, some are experiences from work (that sounds worse than it is, i’m a scientist! IT’S ALL JUSTIFIED! shut up!)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it:)


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